Safe in My Lover's Arms
by Eleanor Fenyx
Summary: Johnlock slash fic/ fluffy first few chapters, possible lemons later on. *Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this fanfic/they are the property of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss/ SACD* *review please!* Sorry I totally suck at summaries
1. I Need You

**A/N - So not only is this my first fanfic, but it's also my first slash of any kind. So any sort of constructive criticism is welcome (actually it's encouraged) and yes, there will be more chapters. Rated T for delightful descriptions and for possibilities later on (might change to M, I don't know yet). So I hope you enjoy it :)**

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><p>"Sherlock?"<p>

"Yes, John?"

"I need you."

Sherlock opened his long arms to me immediately and I folded myself into them, my cheek pressed against his thin chest. I put my legs over his lap and wrapped my arms around his waist and he held me without question, his chin resting lightly against my forehead. I had been having flashbacks again, and I knew he could tell, but he was just too sweet to say anything about it until I was ready. Who knew that I could turn this formerly cold and unfeeling man into a man who was so kind and gentle, who would hold his partner without question? I never would have guessed, and yet here we are, two lovers holding each other close on a couch in a quiet flat while the world moves around us.

I turned my head to bury my face in his neck, only to find his perfectly sculpted lips there to meet mine before I could hide my face. The kiss was slow and gentle; he was being cautious. Sometimes I liked it when he was careful, when he kissed the tip of my nose and the corners of my mouth; when he put his hand on the side of my neck in just the right place to drive me crazy. But tonight I wanted – scratch that - I _needed_ more than that.

I slowly started to lean backwards, letting my weight rest more fully on the arm that was around my waist, and that was all it took for him to know what I wanted. He slid his legs out from under mine, leaving me stretched out our small couch with him hovering over me, the fabric of his favorite blue dressing robe brushing against my skin. I used the hold I still had on his waist to pull his hips down, hoping his torso would follow suit. My little endeavor worked to perfection as his body pressed down very softly on mine, warm with a flush that only I could bring to rise under his pale skin.

He was still being cautious, but he was getting closer to what I needed. I kissed him in earnest, feeling a growing hunger for his mouth, needing to feel his chest under my fingertips. I ran my hands under his shirt up his stomach to his chest, and his once-gentle kisses became more feverish as his need grew to match my own. I pulled my hands away from his chest with some difficulty and moved them instead to caress his neck, slowly moving my hands upwards to run my palms over the sides of his face and resting them there, holding his face to my own lest he should get any ideas about breaking the ever-deepening kiss.

One of his hands was suddenly sliding up my bare back to rest gently under the back of my neck, his fingers somehow finding purchase in my short hair. I don't know how he does it but every single time he runs his long fingers through my hair it's like he's sending electrical currents through my whole body, making my skin tingle and come alive, and suddenly every brush of fabric and each gentle touch of his fingers on my waist, hips, stomach, chest, neck, face…all of it just feels incredible. I can never find the right words to tell him so, but I don't ever need to.

A moan escaped my lips before I could stop it, and my face immediately flushed a brilliant crimson. Sherlock, mercifully, didn't comment on it; he merely kissed both sides of my flaming face then moved back to dominate my lips once again.

Finally, our energy was waning and he rested his forehead on mine, his arms shaking with the exertion of holding himself over me. I gently pressed my fingers into the hollows of each of his elbows, and he tenderly lowered himself down until almost all of his weight was on my right side as he relaxed on top of/beside me into the back of the couch. I gently kissed the hollows of his collarbones, the dip at the bottom of his neck that was so often covered by a scarf, but was laid bare tonight for my eyes and searching mouth. Shyly, I flicked the very tip of my tongue over that hollow in the base of his neck, and I was rewarded with a low groan that vibrated his whole throat under my lips and I felt the vibrations from his chest radiate outward from him into my own. It felt amazing and I never wanted him to stop. I trailed my kisses higher, up his throat and around the side of his jaw, traveling even further until I was kissing his sharply defined cheekbone. I had my eyes tightly shut, because I knew if I looked at him I would completely lose control of myself, and I wasn't quite prepared for that tonight.

He moaned low in his throat, and once again I felt the vibrations move through my hand that was on his chest and also through my body, making me moan in turn and capture his lips once again in feverish kisses. His slender, graceful fingers traced patterns over my back that mimicked the patterns of our kisses. Then, when he started drumming those same fingers right on my spine, his tongue picked up the same pattern as it danced around my mouth, and I was far from resisting at this point.

Not that I'd wanted to. This man, my lover and my love, was more tempting than anything else this world could promise me; be it power, money, or all the women (or even men, should I so choose) I could conceivably want. All I wanted was the beautiful man beneath me, who understood my every thought just by glancing once at my face. Who knew when I needed his arms and where his kisses would be the most effective at any given time. The man could read me like the most simple of children's books, and I didn't care in the least. He was mine, and I was his, fully and completely.

"Do you want to talk about it, John?" This question seemed innocent enough when murmured gently in my ear by his deep, rolling voice, but it led to a place I didn't want to revisit tonight. I gently shook my head as much as I could when my face was trapped by his graceful hands. He seemed to see the reason behind my refusal in my eyes because I saw a spark of pain flash through the icy blue of his eyes, and I wished that I could just forget about that time. I wished I could forget what it was like to feel like I had lost him forever; that I would never hear him play the violin again or beg me for just one cigarette. It was a dark time, and I still had nightmares in which my beloved Sherlock had never really come back to me at all, and that when I woke up his bed would still be perfectly made and his scent would be gone from the flat.

When I woke from these awful dreams I always sought the comfort of his warm arms. When I was encircled by his loving embrace, receiving a simple yet sweet reminder that he adores me, nothing in my mind or in the world could harm me. In my Sherlock's arms I am safe.


	2. I Could Get Used to This

John was asleep underneath me, his head pillowed on my arm. I felt the steady rise and fall of my soldier's chest under my other arm that was wrapped protectively around his bare torso. He sighed in his sleep and my heart fluttered in my chest; a feeling I was still unfamiliar with. John did all kinds of crazy and unusual things to my heart and he didn't even know it.

The most unusual thing he could do to my heart was make it race in my chest. Anytime I'm up late working on a case or just sitting in my chair thinking and John walks out of our bedroom shaking and limping that tiny bit with tears in his haunted eyes, my heart beats furiously in fear. Thanks to that case about the hound out on the moor, I know what it feels like to be so scared that I feel like any release, any distraction at all, would feel like a miracle. I hated it when he was so frightened; partly because it scared me, too. But mostly because I hated to see my brilliantly strong soldier reduced to a timid man, even if it's only for a minute or two. He would always say the same thing to me, and those words always made my cheeks flush. "Sherlock, I need you." Oh those words were so beautiful in their simplicity and I always obliged him immediately. I almost always controlled myself, knowing that he's coming to me on the residual waves of some nightmare or other. If he wanted more, like tonight, I would never argue. But I loved the way he responded when I kissed him gently; tiny, gentle kisses on the tip of his nose and across his fluttering eyelids. His pulse would start to race and the smallest of content smiles would pull at the corners of his mouth.

Most of the time he would enjoy my attentions long enough to relax then fall asleep nestled gently in my cradling arms, his face mere inches from mine the entire time. Perhaps I should have been bothered that he always fell asleep, but every single time he felt safe enough to surrender to his dreams again because of me, I fell in love with him just a little bit more.

I trailed a single finger from his forehead down the side of his face, watching his pulse flutter in response where I could see it against his skin in the pale moonlight. I felt a small smile tug at my lips as my John released an almost imperceptible sigh, deep in a dream I had no trouble fathoming considering what had occurred earlier and what I was doing now. When he settled down again, a frown replaced the small smile of a few moments earlier. John's dreams were something of a sore subject, even when I was just thinking about them. I didn't like how frequent his nightmares still were.

_When I first came back he was having nightmares every single night, and his trembling would wake me up. When this happened the first time that I was aware of, I had no idea what to do. For the first time in my life I was completely at a loss. But then, in the dark safety of our newly shared room, he curled up against my side, not even realizing I was awake as well. His muscles all stiffened completely the moment I turned onto my side to hold him as close as I could to my chest. It took him a long time to relax that night, his muscles trembling for an hour or more, tears occasionally leaking from the corners of his eyes to land softly on either my chest or the bed between us._

_He finally settled down enough to be able to relax fully against my body, his shorter frame not exactly matching my rather lanky stretched out body. That was ok though. It felt amazing just to be able to finally hold him and know he was feeling what was happening in that moment. When he glanced up at my face in the moonlight, I saw something in his eyes that I had never seen before: desire. I kissed my soldier for the first time, surprising him out of any last vestiges of his nightmare. His reaction was a little delayed, and I worried for just a second that I had misread the look in his eyes, but then he was kissing me in return. He gently trailed one of his hands from the middle of the outside of my thigh up to my waist, leaving his hand there to rest softly on my side. I ran my fingers through his short blonde hair, holding his face to mine. He was still so tentative, his kisses slow and unsure against my mouth. I cradled his cheek and kissed him with growing fervor. He couldn't help but respond. A low moan found its way out of my throat and I felt John shiver in pleasure when the deep vibrations travelled from my chest to his. His hand that was on my side slid down to rest on my stomach, then he slowly and gently trailed just his fingertips up my chest and neck to rest softly under my chin. We continued like this for I don't know how long, just enjoying the feeling of finally being able to hold and touch each other. When we were finished, he curled up against me again, but this time our legs were entwined underneath the sheet, and we both fell asleep within moments._

After that, the nightmares and flashbacks that had been haunting him began to rapidly decrease in frequency, but he was still having them every two weeks or so, which was still far too often to me. I am determined to make it to where the nightmares are just dimly-recalled memories, a thing of the past.

John's face, which had been relaxed while I remembered our first night of being together, suddenly twisted into a mask of fear and pain that was all too familiar.

"Dear God, he's having another one" I thought, and then I did the only thing I could think of to help him through this most recent nightmare. I kissed him.

Not on the mouth or the nose or any of his other favorite places. I kissed him right between his eyebrows, where the skin was wrinkled in fear as his eyebrows came together. After that I kissed him anywhere I could think of; his forehead, his eyelids, nose, mouth, on his neck just below his ears where the muscles were straining and sticking up from his skin in sharp contrast. I just felt so helpless. It seemed kissing wasn't going to be enough on its own, so I started to caress his face, the back of his head. His shoulders were so tight; they felt like concrete beneath my frantic touch.

Suddenly his eyes flew open and he gasped, his entire body becoming rigid beneath me. I moved my face to look at his eyes that were focused on nothing. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, sense came back into his blank gaze and his eyes slowly found my face. I just stared at him, my eyes searching his face for any sort of concrete confirmation that he was okay.

"John? Are you alright?" A question I had asked so many times before, and he had always responded in the affirmative without a second thought. Now though, when asked at this moment, he took time to gather his thoughts and he slowly nodded, saying, "I am now." He ran a hand over my bare chest and my breathing hitched for just a split second. A slow smile spread across his face at my reaction, and I could tell he liked being able to make me feel so bloody amazing with a single touch. I was honestly just glad he was sane, let alone smiling.

He pulled me down to graze my lips with his teeth, his raw hunger caused a stir in me and my emotions soon grew to match his. His body felt cool under mine, but then again I was feeling a little…feverish. His breath, usually so even, was coming in short, irregular bursts in between bouts of kissing. I decided to give his overworked mouth a much deserved rest and I moved my attentions to just underneath his jaw, where his skin is the most sensitive. A whimper escaped his typically iron control and I felt the warmth seep up from his heart to his face, moving past my sensitive lips. My hand traced patterns on the other side of his neck, eventually trailing down to draw similar patterns on his chest and stomach. Just to infuriate him, I stopped my hand's roaming just short of the waistband of his boxers, and he glared at the ceiling since he couldn't exactly see my face. I loved making John angry. He was always so adorable, and it never lasted for long. We continued this way for hours, me teasing my sweet lover and him going back and forth between anger and pleasure. It was a heady mixture, this experience. I felt so powerful and yet so completely and utterly at the mercy of the gentle man who was at this moment about to overpower my self-control with his whimpering and quiet moaning.

I continued to kiss, hold, and caress him for as long as it took for him to relax and go to sleep for the third time that night, one that would hopefully turn out to be dreamless at last. I didn't want to know what his nightmares were about, but it didn't really matter. What matters is that, apparently, I am the cure. I could definitely get used to this.


	3. Tea and Sheets

**A/N: So this was a fun chapter to write. It took me a few days because of play rehearsal and a teensy bit of writer's block (that you may or may not be able to find)but it's my longest chapter so far and it's a bit more...delightful than the others. I hope you enjoy!**

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><p>I love waking up in Sherlock's arms. For heaven's sake I just like waking up next to him. The simple fact that we share a bed is enough to make me ecstatic. Add to that the fact that he still sleeps stark naked and my life is suddenly even better.<p>

I smile to myself as I make tea, even when I start thinking about last night. It had been rough; Two nightmares in one night, the second being so much worse than the first. Sherlock had been there both times of course. While the second nightmare had been worse, the relief had been swift. Sherlock had woken me up in the sweetest way possible, bringing an end to my nightmare before it even really and truly began. I had wanted him so badly in the moment my sanity returned. Seeing his concerned face above me, knowing that it was the touch of his hands and his lips that had called me from the brink made me almost frantic with desire.

_His gentle touches after I woke up drove me to a rather different edge. I figured I might as well return the favor, smiling – no, wait; smirking – when I made his breath catch in his chest. It was nice to know he wanted me as well. Our lips crashed together and I ran my teeth over Sherlock's lips, whimpering when he broke away, kissing his way down to just underneath my jaw. I thought it had felt amazing when he ran his fingers over that same spot. It turns out I had no idea what 'amazing' really felt like until he was pushing his soft lips against that one bit of my neck, and I honestly lost my breath for just a moment._

_I caressed the curves of his face where it was still against my neck, and he began tracing small patterns on my neck, sliding his long, graceful fingers down my chest to rest lightly on the waistband of my boxers. Then he just left his hand there, not moving it or anything. I suddenly knew it was payback for making him so excited a moment ago, and I ground my teeth in frustration, glaring at the ceiling. I could never stay mad at my love though; he made me feel too good to be angry._

I grin to myself again remembering his cheekiness. I mean sure, it annoys me in the moment when all I want is more and he starts holding back on purpose, but I always laugh about it the next day.

I feel warm arms slide around my waist from behind and I lean back into Sherlock's chest automatically. I can't believe I was ever reluctant to show him affection. He held me like that for about…five seconds before he was quickly murmuring rather…naughty things right in my ear. His deep, gravelly voice sent chills up my spine and made me want to push him onto the table and take him right then and there. I didn't of course; I knew he was just teasing me to see if I was alright. I tilt my head slightly to the left, telling him without any words what I wanted. He obliges, brushing his lips over the bare skin of my neck. Not kissing, just running his mouth over the contours of my jaw, down my neck, and across my shoulder.

I turn around and grab fistfuls of the sheet he's got draped rather haphazardly over his naked body, kissing him full on mouth with the most passion I have ever shown him, a low moan rising up in my throat. I ran my tongue over his perfectly shaped lips and he willingly opened his mouth to my questing tongue. He groaned into my mouth, running his tongue over the underside of mine. My hands moved away from his chest to grip the part of the sheet that was barely covering his back.

I let go of him and tore my mouth away from his with some difficulty; neither of us wanted to stop. I smiled at his petulant, childish look of disappointment and pulled him with me into the sitting room. He seemed to understand what I wanted because he suddenly sprang ahead of me and sat down in his chair, pulling me down to sit facing him on his lap. I smiled at his eagerness and he flushed a brilliant crimson. I knew it still embarrassed him when he accidentally let his affection show, and I loved watching him get flustered. Plus his annoyance always made him rather more passionate.

That passion was shown rather violently as he pulled my face roughly towards his to crash our lips back together in an intense kiss. I let my hands roam all over the panting man beneath me, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his sculpted chest. The sheet had fallen off of his shoulders and was wrapped around his arms and chest. I wanted to feel more of his warm skin against my own, so I slid the sheet off of his arms and chest, leaving it to form a small pile in the space between us on his lap. I ignored my urge to just rip it off of him completely. Instead, I pressed myself to him as tightly as I could, grasping at the smooth skin of his shoulder blades. He pulled his mouth away from mine with a gasp, resting his forehead against mine. He was quietly laughing in ecstasy, the sound reverberating through our bodies.

I could hardly contain myself when I was this close to him even when he was fully clothed; since he's basically naked, it's literally taking every ounce of my self-control to not just get rid of his sheet and my boxers and just finish the act we're so close to starting. I'm not sure I'm ready for that though. I love Sherlock, there is absolutely no doubt about that, so I don't want to mess anything up by going too quickly. Even if he's ready (and by the way he's got his hands resting my underwear hesitantly makes me think he's not) I don't want things to move so quickly that he gets bored with me after a while. Not that I doubt him – I've never doubted him – but I want him to love me for the longest time possible. We would make love soon; for now I'm just glad that he's willing to hold me and kiss me and tell me without words that he wants me.

I wrapped my hands around his, which were resting lightly on my underwear while he waited for me to catch my breath, and pulled them up to my face. He put his palms flat against my cheeks, his long fingers brushing aside the hair over my temples where he planted gentle, fluttering kisses, whispering my name between each press of his lips. My heart leaped in my chest, and I knew he felt it, but he just kept going, moving his mouth to rest his lips just under my ear, making me moan his name softly. I felt his answering smirk against the underside of my jaw and it was suddenly my turn to blush furiously.

Even though he doesn't show it (much) I know Sherlock loves being with me as much as I love being with him. Every time I kiss him and I feel him kiss me back instantly, or those rare moments when he accidentally moans my name or lets out the smallest groan, make me smile.

I didn't get a chance to smile as long as I normally would have as my mouth was suddenly glued to the beautiful lips of my lover. His hands slid down my back to grip my body a bit lower down than he ever has before, and I lurched forward on his lap, trying to ignore the feeling of his erection on my own and barely succeeding. He jerked his hips upwards once then seemed to regain a small amount of self-control because his hips were mercifully still after that one frenzied thrust; I don't believe I could have controlled myself if he couldn't. Still, he moaned my name in a voice that was rough with passion and hunger, and I groaned his name in return.

Was it actually possible for two people to fuse into one? It felt as if no force on Earth would separate me from the man I love. Every inch of my skin that touches Sherlock's feels like it will stay that way forever, neither of us ever being separated from each other again. Every touch of his mouth on me burned its way past my skin to settle there, scorching long after his glorious lips had moved on, leaving trails of fire burning all over my face, neck, and shoulders.

When we had calmed down by just a fraction, my beautiful Sherlock leaned his head backwards over the back of his chair, and I took the opportunity to bury face in his neck, gently pressing my lips to a section of skin I knew was particularly sensitive. When he didn't really respond, I gently bit down on that same portion of skin, eliciting a rumbling groan from the man I was pleasuring.

"John," he half-moaned.

"Mm?" I would've been a bit more articulate if my face weren't still buried against his warm neck.

"If you genuinely wish for this to go no further I suggest you stop torturing me."

I could almost hear the smirk in his voice, but I knew by the hardness of the erection that was pressed against my thigh that he was being very serious.

I honestly considered continuing for just a moment, thinking quickly about what would happen if I allowed him to release his tension, and then decided against it (which took more effort than I thought it would).

I sighed heavily against his neck after pulling back just enough to where I knew some of my warm breath would reach his ear. I felt his answering shudder and I grinned, climbing off of his extremely comfortable lap. As I stood there, flushed with arousal and embarrassment mingled, I saw his eyes glide appreciatively over my shorter frame once before returning to my face. Even though it had been a while, I still had the muscles of a soldier, and I knew my body turned Sherlock on. I blushed again, feeling suddenly exposed which was ridiculous; but I was embarrassed all the same. I turned quickly and walked into the kitchen to throw out the now-cold pot of tea and begin brewing a fresh one before deciding against it and almost running past Sherlock, mumbling something about needing to take a shower and that I'd be out in a few minutes.

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><p><strong>AN #2 - I loved writing John's angsty indecision XD. Sorry I would've put that up at the top but I didn't want to spoil any of the sexually frustrating goodies ^_^ Don't forget to review!**


	4. Of Showers and Sweet Things

**A/N: Okay so if anyone is confused as to why Sherlock and John haven't had been on any cases in any of these chapters, that's because all four chapters so far (including this one obviously) have taken place in the time span of one night and half of the next morning. I know it seems like so much more because of how much stuff I pack into each chapter but I swear all these yummy things happen within like, 12 or 13 hours haha. Who knew they were so sexually frustrated? Anyways, this chapter is about twice as long as my others so I hope you enjoy it and don't think it goes on for a freakishly long time :)**

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><p>I watched John's somewhat frenzied motions as he threw out the tea he had been making before I so sweetly interrupted him and began making a fresh pot. I grinned when his hands were shaking as he began brewing another pot. I outright laughed when he sprinted past me, obviously flustered, and said he was going to take a shower. I couldn't believe that he still didn't realize what he does to me, and that he has no reason to be embarrassed about the fact that he turns me on. The sensation was so strange to my analytical mind that I honestly just let my body take over every time I was close to John; if I thought too much about it I probably wouldn't speak to my soldier for days, and that's not what I want at all.<p>

My laugh rumbled up out of my chest to fill the empty space around me. I wondered at the feeling of "love" that washed through me at the thought of John; the ways he moved and talked were completely mesmerizing, and I figured I loved him though I have no idea what kind of feelings that word encompasses. The chemistry behind it was quite simple actually, but feelings were new to me.

It started when I became jealous of Sarah, John's first girlfriend after we met. I don't know what he ever saw in her. She was dull. I began thinking that I was much more interesting and that John should be with me instead. How could he even think I had forgotten all those women's names? I remembered every single one of them, and I was still mildly jealous. That was a sign of love wasn't it? I didn't know and I didn't really care either. All I cared about was the fact that the man I love is currently showering…and naked. The fingers that were steepled in front of my mouth began to shake uncontrollably, and before I could really think about what I was doing, I was pushing myself out of my chair and sprinting to the washroom.

I stood in front of the door, debating whether or not to open it and go in. I didn't know if he was ready for sex yet, but he had been indecisive earlier and that gave me confidence. Well, more confidence. I was still hesitant, but I pushed open the door anyways.

I glanced at the shower that was emitting copious amounts of steam. I watched the curtain for any sign of movement from John, stepping closer when I didn't see anything. I grew anxious, stepping closer again.

"John? John answer me, are you alright?"

I was suddenly tackled from behind. The only thing that kept me from fighting back was the throaty chuckle that was sounding in my ear, barely audible over the sound of water. My anxiety receded as quickly as it had appeared and I was suddenly able to appreciate John's nudity much more than a few seconds prior.

He was still laughing when I suddenly rolled him over, pushing his shoulders down with my palms and holding his hips down with my own. My sheet, which was still wrapped around my hips from our little chair episode, was hanging dangerously loose around my small hips. John's hands travelled quickly down my body to pull the sheet aside, his right hand trailing up and down the outside of my thigh repeatedly; gentle caresses that were driving me nuts. I pressed my now naked hips down against his, crying out softly when I felt every inch of his warm skin beneath me. I felt John shift his hips experimentally, making me groan. I put my hand underneath his head to cushion it from the cold tile floor, and then I closed the distance between our faces quickly, feeling his head press into my palm as the force of my kiss pushed his head down roughly.

It took about two seconds for him to regain some control, after which he pushed his tongue into my unresisting mouth. I groaned again, not even caring about how unusually vocal I was being. John seemed to enjoy it though; I felt him become harder with each moan I released, and I got the feeling he wouldn't last much longer. Just as I was thrusting my hips down against his to torture him, he came, screaming with ecstasy into my mouth, and then groaning as his wave of passion ebbed. He breathed out slowly through his nose as his mouth was still moving with mine in gentle patterns. We continued like that for a little while, and it felt amazing to just be able to kiss him, to taste his lips and tongue in the heavy steam that was still coming from the shower.

The shower. I suddenly remembered my original mission and I tilted my head up to look at the closed curtain above me. I barely heard John's plaintive whine at the loss of my lips on his, smirking when he flicked his tongue quickly against my neck.

My smirk, which he couldn't see, wouldn't have fooled him even if he could see it because it was rather obvious what he was doing to me. He laughed again and I felt his breath brush past my sensitive neck with each exhale. I stood up abruptly, leaving John to pout up at me from the floor, his cheeks flushed from the heat of the steam and from our most recent exertions. He stopped looking up at me and laid his head back on the floor, breathing heavily judging by the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

I bent down and yanked him up roughly before pushing him toward the shower and making sure he didn't trip on the rim of the bath. He stumbled a bit but quickly stepped in when he realized what was going on. I stepped in after him quickly, closing the curtain so we would be completely isolated for just a little while. No phones ringing, no one ringing at the door that we could hear… I suddenly felt like we had all the time in the world to just be with each other and I was going to use it to the fullest extent.

I reached around John to turn the cold water up just a bit; the heat was nice but it was starting to scald. He captured my hand as I was pulling it back and put it against his face. I held his face in both of my hands and kissed him everywhere (above the chest) except his mouth. I kissed his now-wet hair, the tip of his nose that was dripping water; I even kissed the water droplets away from his eyelashes. I could tell that I was infuriating him but he was enjoying the sweet tenderness of each kiss.

He ran his hands through my dripping hair, letting his fingertips travel down from the nape of my neck to trace my spine, stopping at my lower back before moving his hand back up my long back. When I had given attention to every part of his head and neck (except his mouth, of course) and he had made his circuit of my spine a few times, I gripped the back of his head, my fingers searching for purchase in his short hair which the water had practically glued to his head.

I gave up and put my hands on the back of his neck, caressing and gently cupping the side right on his so-called "sweet spot", finally kissing his adorable lips. His fingertips wound tightly into my hair, on the verge of pulling some out. I moved one hand from his neck to place it over his hands where they were fisted in my hair and he released his hold just a bit. He broke away from my lips with a small gasp, not seeming to even notice the little rivulets of water that were running over his eyes and slightly open mouth.

We stood like that for a minute or two, just watching the water run over each other's faces and bodies. John was looking at me like I was someone amazing which he usually only did when I made a (supposedly) difficult deduction. I was confused because I had given him no reason to look at me like that and I felt my facial expression change just enough to convey my confusion. He saw it and read it for what it was, and then he smiled and gently ran his fingertips down the sides of my face to follow the line of my jaw. He caressed my neck, shoulders, and chest, running his palms gently down my whole body, stopping when his hands reached the bit of sensitive skin below my navel. He slid his hands to rest at the same level on the outside of my hips, gently rubbing his thumbs in little circles on my sensitive skin.

How could one man be so erotic? I didn't know if it was just because I lacked experience but it seemed to me that John knew just where to put his hands to make me so excited that I couldn't think right and he was doing it again. I knew that I could do the same to him though so maybe it isn't a matter of experience, but rather one of how well you know the other person; obviously John and I are rather close.

I didn't really have much time to think it over though as John had gotten the idea in his head that he was going to tease me mercilessly, and he started by doing something completely unexpected. He slid his hands around to rest on my lower back, pulling himself closer to my chest simultaneously. That in and of itself wasn't strange, but then he dug his short nails into the extremely sensitive skin under his hands. I arched my back shouting as I felt a wave of pure ecstasy wash over me.

I felt cool water on my face so I looked down at John again, lust still written plainly on my face. I kissed his ear and jaw as I leaned past him to adjust the water to a more agreeable temperature. He began breathing heavily and when I leaned back again I watched desire flash through his eyes. I shook my head slightly, the smallest of smiles pulling at my mouth. I saw his eyes flicker down from mine quickly to my mouth. I glanced at his as well and noticed that he had no intention of kissing my lips at that moment.

He put his fingers under my chin, gently tilting my head back where I then rested it against the wall behind me and closed my eyes. His fingertips danced across my jaw and neck before making fluttering patterns across the expanse of my chest. He wound the fingers of one of his hands into my long hair and tilted my head back down to trace my facial features. He started by running his fingers over my eyelids then over the shadows that were under my eyes. He continued like that until the only feature he hadn't given any attention to was my mouth. I watched his face as he ran his fingertip over my lips, tracing my deep cupid's bow and following the movements of his fingertips shortly after with his lips, gently running them across the features he had just traced. They were the most tender of kisses, gentle touches of his lips to my fluttering eyelids and slightly parted lips. His tongue slipped inside my mouth, but it felt more sweet than lustful.

While we had been keeping our hands above each other's hips, we were both growing progressively harder. I tried my best to ignore the friction that was going on and I knew he was, too since his hands were balled up into fists on my waist. I covered his hands with my own, working my fingers under his to uncurl them from his palms. I left my fingers wound through his and brought them up to my chest, breaking the kiss.

I slid down to sit on the bottom of the tub, my back moving effortlessly on the dripping wall. John looked at me with raised eyebrows but I shook my head once and he sat down in front of me. I told him to turn around. When his back was to me, I put my hands on his waist and pulled him towards me. I draped my legs around him and over his legs where they were stretched out in front of him. He settled into my chest and I tucked his head under my chin. I smiled and began humming my latest composition. The hot water still fell from the shower as John drifted off to sleep still cradled against my body.

Just as I finished humming my newest piece, the water began to cool so I turned it off and sat in the quiet washroom for a few minutes, admiring the perfection of the moment.

I climbed out of the bath, being careful not to jostle John too much until I woke him up. He looked confused and lost for a moment but then he glanced up at me and smiled gently. I held my hand out to him to help him step out and I lost my breath for a moment at the sight of his body that was still covered in water. He ran his hand through my hair quickly before reaching past me and grabbing a towel that he wrapped rather low down around my hips. I smiled and draped his robe around his shoulders, kissing his chest quickly before closing the robe (loosely) and tying the belt (barely) around his waist. I gave into a childish impulse and ruffled a towel over his hair, making it stick up in some places. All I could think at that moment was that he was so adorable when his hair wasn't perfectly smoothed down.

We walked into the sitting room still dripping and holding hands, our fingers entwined tightly. We suddenly stopped when we noticed Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen staring right at us.

"Don't worry dears, there's all sorts 'round here. Mrs. Turner next door has got married ones, as I told you before." Her voice was calm but her face was red as she brushed past me to go downstairs. I looked at John where he had sat down in his chair and we both started laughing in the otherwise silent flat.

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><p><strong>AN: In case you haven't noticed yet, the POV alternates between John and Sherlock and I love doing it like this since I can write (and you can read) about each of their emotions as they're with each other to a certain extent. So that means the next chapter will be from John's point of view and I could give you a hint about what's going to happen but I don't think I will. I'm writing furiously so the chapter should be up within the next few days so be on the lookout :)**


	5. Angst and Pain

**A/N: If you hate long chapters, I'm very sorry. Well, actually I'm not but I would be sad if you didn't read this chapter :P. This one was a lot of fun to write since it's all angsty and whumpy and all that fun stuff so please enjoy 5 pages worth of my writing ^_^ (Seriously you guys. 5. Freaking. Pages.)**

**P.S. Reviews would be positively lovely!**

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><p>I knew Sherlock would follow me. I knew he would pick up on all the little hints I dropped. Sherlock's deductive skills must have been rubbing off on me and I knew just what to do to make him do what I wanted (even if he didn't realize it). I couldn't believe it when my plan actually worked. I, John Watson, had managed to (for lack of a better word) <em>seduce <em>Sherlock Holmes. At first I was just going to wait for him in the shower, but then I had a flash of brilliance and I hid behind the door. I figured he would see all the little things I was sure were there that would lead him to me. However, the idea of showering with me must have clouded his mind just enough to miss all the hints that I wasn't really in the shower.

Once I was on top of him though, I didn't really think about it much. I thought of it not at all when I was under my now-naked lover. I didn't really think about anything but the feeling of Sherlock's hands and lips on me and how it felt to know that I have this beautiful man completely to myself for as long as we wanted it that way. We spent so much time in the bath that I thought I should be worrying but I found that I really didn't care. Lestrade could solve at least one case on his own and no one of importance should be calling today.

Sherlock sat down and wrapped his long limbs over and around me as I settled into his chest. I was suddenly overcome by exhaustion as he hummed a composition I knew was meant for me. His deep voice vibrated through his chest and my back, and I felt a little guilty while I was falling asleep but I knew Sherlock didn't mind.

I barely noticed it when Sherlock turned off the water, and I didn't even realize it when he unwound his limbs from mine and climbed out of the bath. When he woke me I randomly saw Afghanistan for just a moment, but then I saw Sherlock standing naked beside the tub and that was all it took to return to the present.

I took the hand he offered me, marveling at how strong his long fingers were as they gripped my hand and wrist. I ran my fingers through his hair before reaching behind him for a towel. I wrapped the towel quite low around his hips; so low that I could see the delicious "v" that was formed by his groin meeting the flat expanse of his stomach. He responded by putting my usual robe around my shoulders, ducking down quickly to kiss my chest once softly. He closed my robe over my chest loosely and barely tied the belt around my waist. We left the washroom with our fingers intertwined to find Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen looking right at us. She darted past us as I was sitting down in my chair, muttering something about "married ones", her face a rather alarming shade of red. Sherlock looked at me with amusement and I couldn't help but laugh along with him.

Sherlock began playing the piece he had been humming earlier but was interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. I watched him stride quickly into our room to get it and answer, his tone irritated because of the interruption. It sounded like Lestrade had a new case for us though judging by the volume of Sherlock's voice. I loved hearing him get excited; he always sounded so adorably human. His voice suddenly became worried in response to something Lestrade said. I got up to go see what was wrong when Sherlock came out of our bedroom walking quickly. He grabbed me and pulled my face to his, crushing my lips against his once…twice…three times.

"My dear John, I have to leave," he murmured when he was done bruising my lips.

"Leave? Only you," I asked, picking up on his use of "I" instead of "we". He nodded then said "Lestrade just phoned and said there was a case I needed to help him with and he didn't know if I'd seen it on the news yet or not. John, this case is an eleven and I've got to take it."

I still didn't understand why he had to go alone and I told him as much. He grabbed my face again, this time kissing me slowly and as sweetly as he ever had.

"The case is in Afghanistan, John. Even if you think you're ready, I know you're not and it would pain me to know that you began having more flashbacks because of me."

All of this was murmured against my lips, my mouth moving with his as his beautiful lips formed the painful words. I thought about trying to convince Sherlock to take me with him, but then I remembered the nightmares I'd had just last night and I shuddered at the thought of going back to where they had originated from. So, as much as it pained me to do it, I nodded my head and closed my eyes, breathing deeply to attempt to compose myself. Sherlock took one of my hands and placed it on his bare chest and I was suddenly trying to touch and kiss every part of his bare torso that I could, my hands and lips working furiously. He responded by pushing my robe off of my shoulders and kissing the newly exposed skin.

After we had gotten our momentary fill of each other, we stayed in the middle of the sitting room just holding each other close and trying to muster the strength to let go.

"Oh John I have to stay," he groaned after we had been silent for a while. I released my hold on him and pushed him gently in the direction of our bedroom saying, "no, Sherlock. You have to go. As much as I would like it otherwise, I can't keep you to myself." I almost pulled him back when I saw the torn look on his face, but I didn't so he went back into our room to get dressed and begin packing. I decided to wait to get dressed until after he was gone, knowing I probably wouldn't be able to handle watching him pack.

He came out of the bedroom as impeccably dressed as always, including my favorite shirt of his. He was torturing me on purpose! His expression was innocent enough but his eyes were just a bit too bright with some sort of mischief. The buttons on this particular shirt were straining more so than on any of his others and the dark purple of it made him look…delicious. There was really no other word for it. He glanced at me once then grabbed his laptop from the desk.

When he was ready to leave, I had composed myself well enough to give him an only slightly erotic kiss which he broke off with a groan, nearly sprinting down the stairs. He didn't look at me again, even when he reached the landing that led to the next flight of stairs. Just like that, Sherlock was gone from me again. I knew this time would be different though because he would be able to contact me at least for a little while.

That night was difficult. I had a nightmare the likes of which I haven't experienced since that dreadful day at the hospital. I woke up needing Sherlock more than ever, and of course he wasn't there. I buried my face in his pillow, breathing in his scent between my quiet sobs. I hated being reduced to this and I craved the long, warm arms of my detective. I pulled my phone out of the drawer in the bedside table and switched it on, beginning a message to Sherlock as soon as I could. I was interrupted right in the middle of the message by a text that had just been sent to me from him.

_I figured you would be having difficulties tonight. I left my scarf in the wardrobe for you._

_I thought you might need it for…sentimental reasons. Be back soon._

_-SH_

I vaulted off the bed, my eyes still streaming tears, and yanked open the drawer in our wardrobe that was reserved for Sherlock's under garments. I roughly pulled out his favorite blue and grey scarf and held it to my face like I used to when Sherlock was "dead". I didn't think I could stand to return to our bed so I limped into the sitting room to sink down in my chair. Sherlock's violin sat haphazardly in his chair across from me. I closed my eyes and brought my legs up to my chest with a bit of difficulty. I imagined Sherlock standing in front of me, violin still positioned under his chin, as he looked at me with that mildly confused look on his face at my sentimentality. I imagined him coming over and sitting behind me on the back of my chair and begin playing his newest composition for me softly. I fell asleep that way, with his scarf cradled against my face, his scent surrounding me and making my imaginings seem almost real.

When Mrs. Hudson found me in my chair the next morning, my muscles were stiff and Sherlock's scarf was in a small pile in my lap. I had a quick moment of relief when I realized I had worn an undershirt in addition to my boxers to bed last night; no need to shock poor Mrs. Hudson again. After I was dressed I went to the kitchen and sat down at the table, running my hands over my face. Mrs. Hudson sat a cup of tea in front of me, and then sat down on the other side of the table. I think she knew what was going on, but only Sherlock had ever really been able to help me with things like this. My phone started ringing just as I took the first sip of my tea. I walked into the sitting room, hoping but not believing Sherlock was calling me. I felt a surge of disappointment when I saw it was Lestrade.

"Lestrade I don't want to do any cases until Sherlock is back." I didn't even bother with a greeting.

"That's what I need to talk to you about, John. Sherlock's back," he said but I picked up on the worried tone to his voice. I was glad he was back but I wondered why he didn't just come home. There were too many things wrong with this whole situation.

"Greg, he shouldn't be back yet, he would have come straight home, and he would have called me himself if he couldn't come to the flat right now. What's going on?" My voice must have alarmed Mrs. Hudson because she leaned around the door frame to look at me.

"He….John he got injured. Badly. He's at Saint Bart's and he'll only say your name. Can you come?" I was already running down the stairs when he said 'injured'.

I didn't even bother explaining to Mrs. Hudson before I was out the door onto the sidewalk, hailing a cab. Lestrade could call her later; there was no way I would stay in the flat a moment longer while Sherlock was lying somewhere in pain.

The taxi couldn't move fast enough and I drummed my fingers impatiently on my knee.

When the cab pulled up in front of the hospital, I vaulted out of the car, throwing my money into the open window before running inside, frantic with worry. Lestrade was standing in the waiting room and led me to Sherlock's room without asking me any questions or talking unnecessarily. He opened the door for me when we reached Sherlock's room, closing it behind himself to give me and Sherlock privacy for a minute or two. I approached the bed where he was sleeping very carefully, afraid of what I would see.

It was amazing he had been able to say anything at all. His face… God I haven't seen anything like this since my service. His battered and bloody lips were parted slightly as he struggled to breathe and his eyes were moving quickly behind his lacerated eyelids. There was an alarming dip in the middle of his forehead that indicated a fractured skull.

I pulled the thin white sheet off of his body to see what other damage had been done. His chest was covered in burns and lacerations. I found a few ribs that had all been broken in several places which was most likely why he was having difficulty breathing.

I could attempt to piece together what had caused so many severe injuries in this pattern; I had seen injuries almost exactly like this on men and women who had been targets for bomb raids. He must have been so close to the bomb to receive the burns. The lacerations were most likely from shrapnel that would have been unavoidable at that distance. He would have been blasted before he'd even realized it. The force of the blow would have broken his ribs since the other injuries didn't exactly create a pattern indicative of him hitting the ground, making me think he was close to the bomb.

I ran into the hall outside of his room and flashed my rank as a military doctor to a passing nurse. I didn't enjoy pulling my rank this time. I barked orders at the poor woman as if she were one of my nurses in the field, ordering her to bring me all the medical supplies I would need to treat Sherlock. My list was long but the poor girl seemed to understand exactly what I needed. My heart thumped loudly as I walked back into the room and saw Sherlock's fingers grip the sheets beneath him as a wave of pain hit. Suddenly his back was arching off of the bed as his eyes flew open and he screamed in pain. I ran across the room to his bedside, desperate to do _anything _that would help him. I didn't even see a safe place to put my hands to push him back to the bed.

His back hit the sheets with a soft thump as the wave passed but there were tears in his eyes and his fingers were still clawing the sheets. He was moving his legs feebly, or at least trying to. I saw one final injury I had missed before; one of his legs was broken. I breathed out slowly through my nose, trying to find the detachment I had maintained in Afghanistan. I almost managed it, but then I took one look at Sherlock's anguished face and I lost it again. I leaned over him and looked into his swimming eyes and I was close enough to hear him whimpering as the pain lashed through his battered body.

"John..AAH John you have to help me! Please!" His words came out as a pained groan but the last word, the one that broke my composure completely, came out as a plaintive whine that was broken off by a sob. The tears started to leak from the corners of his eyes to run across his lacerated cheeks and a tear dropped from my eye as well. His eyes rolled back in his head as he passed out. I sighed a bit in relief; he wouldn't feel anything as long as he was unconscious.

The nurse walked into the room and set down everything I had asked for on a table and put the table near my elbow. I thanked her quietly and began pouring out antiseptic to put on the cuts that covered Sherlock's bloodied face and chest. I pressed a bandage soaked in disinfectant apprehensively to a cut that sliced across his entire chest. He gasped and attempted to sit up quickly as he was suddenly pulled from his stupor from the sting of the antiseptic, crying out as the pain of moving hit him a moment later.

He let out a heart-wrenching scream that turned into a sob as I continued administering the sterilizing bandages as quickly as I could. He grunted low in his throat as he attempted to take a deep breath, stopping when his broken rib stopped the expansion of his lungs. I stared down at him again to attempt to determine where to start with the next part of my treatment. I decided to wrap up his torso in an attempt to immobilize his ribs. I briefly considered having him sit up but then I realized his burns were too severe for any real movement without considerable pain. I took a deep breath to steady myself, trying to ignore the all-too-familiar scent of harsh antiseptic mixed with the smell of burned skin, as I prepared the bandage that would go around his chest. I wasn't quite sure how to go about this, but I tried to lift up just enough of Sherlock's chest to get the bandage under it. He ground his teeth and tried to remain silent but a whine still slipped through when my rough fingers brushed the bright red skin of his stomach. I managed to wrap the bandage tight enough around him to stabilize the broken bones, but I knew the fabric was tortuous against his sensitive burns.

I treated the burns next. I rubbed burn cream into them gently, avoiding the large gashes that ripped across his chest. Sherlock's face, which had been screwed up tightly in pain, began to relax, just slightly, as (I assumed) the pain receded from his chest. I was glad that I had treated his burns before I moved on to the last part of treating the injuries on his upper body; his gashes needed to be sutured. I wanted Sherlock to be relaxed while I was stitching up the wounds on his chest so I focused on his face for the moment. I brushed a mild sterilizing gel over the small cuts on his cheeks and eyelids, gently rubbing away the blood that was coagulating on his face with warm water and a soft bandage. His eyes opened and he grabbed my hand in a weak grip that worried me.

"John. Please John just get it over with already," his face twisted into a grimace for just a second as another wave of pain washed over him. "Just finish so I can sleep."

I studied his face for a moment with my lips pressed together tightly then nodded my head. He closed his eyes and seemed about to bite his lip before he thought better of it. I grabbed the materials I would need for the suturing of his wounds and I warned him that it might take a while as there were several rather large gashes. He didn't respond in any way except by grabbing the sheets in preparation for the next onslaught of pain. I began sewing, trying to work quickly to try to minimize the amount of pain I would have to put him through. His lips trembled but he didn't make any noise as I continued sewing, finishing my first set and moving on to the next laceration within a minute or two.

I was finished within ten minutes, but if they felt like an hour to me I can't imagine how long it seemed to Sherlock. I slid down to examine his leg, where the break wasn't nearly as severe as it could be. I knew as I looked at it though that it would impede his movement for a month or more as he had somehow managed to break his femur, which would take a long time to heal completely. I splinted it as best as I could – he would never consent to being put in a cast and I knew it – so I immobilized it as best as I could. Then, mercifully, I was finished. I rested my palm on his cheek, careful to avoid the deeper cuts. He opened his tear-filled eyes to look at me, and we just sat there like that, looking at each other's faces, until Lestrade knocked on the door. I kissed Sherlock once on the forehead before going to open the door and step into the hall with the Detective Inspector.

"He'll survive. Don't let anyone in here, Greg. Please. He would never accept being seen like this by anyone else," I said before Lestrade could ask me how he was doing. He studied my tired face for a moment then nodded. I walked back into the room and climbed carefully into the bed to lie with Sherlock and hold him as much as I could. He sighed once and finally drifted into a deep sleep and I watched his eyes flicker restlessly under his eyelids.

I finally drifted off to sleep after making sure Sherlock wouldn't be disturbed by dreams or other people. Lestrade's back filled the small window in the door to Sherlock's room and I was sure he wouldn't let anyone bother us.


	6. Just Heal Me, Please

**A/N: Alright you guys so I'm just gonna go ahead and apologize for this chapter in advance. I don't know how you dearest readers will feel about it (which is why I love to get reviews *wink*) but I hate it. The thing is though, is that I need to post this because the next chapter (which is already mostly written) is a ton of awesomeness and it would bug me to have two "John" chapters in a row. So this is basically a filler, read it if you want, but it's just Sherlock's pain from his point of view as John is treating him.**

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><p>I was in pain. The word pain sounds like it would be so simple, so easy to comprehend. I was in agony. Burning waves of pain were wracking my body and I lost myself a few times in the sea of red and grey misery. I was on fire. My body felt as if I was lying in a furnace with hot whips lashing across my chest. People moved above and around me, moving in and out of focus as I drifted in and out of lucidity.<p>

"John…Doctor John…Watson."

I felt his name slide up my scorched throat, somehow escaping my tortured throat and lips. I clung to it even though it hurt. It was imperative that whoever was around me know that I wanted – no, _needed_ – John.

I felt screams erupt from my battered body with each new wave of agony that ripped through me. I didn't care. I wondered if I was being punished by someone or something for my happiness. Call it karma or some other ridiculous religious notion but it was difficult to ignore the fact that this was happening so soon after John and I were just getting so serious about each other.

I lost myself after that. I dreamed of John for I don't know how long. I never thought of anyone else while I was out of consciousness. When I was aware, pain dominated my thoughts, so I preferred my delusions.

I sank into oblivion with a deep feeling of happiness. The pain couldn't follow me here and I could be with John in ways I was pretty sure he'd never agree to in reality. I didn't think I'd ever tell him this, but I loved it when John would pull rank or when his military service was brought up in conversation. Imagining my doctor in a dominant military position was…stimulating to say the least. I worked hard to hide it around him (at least for now) but it's still fun to explore in the confines of my mind.

I didn't have the luxury of enjoying my little military fantasies for long though as I was yanked from my stupor by a sudden wave of pain that was fiercer and more persistent than the others. My eyes flew open to find myself in a hospital room somewhere. My back arched off the bed as I tried to escape the pain somehow, a scream trying to work its way out and it finally succeeded, tearing harshly past my ravaged lips to erupt in the otherwise quiet room.

John's frantic face was suddenly above me, his hands hovering just over my chest as my back hit the bed again with a soft thump. I was trying to move my legs, to find _some _way to express my pain, but I found that I couldn't move my left leg without a sharp pain searing its way from my thigh to wash through the rest of my body. His face was worried, his eyebrows coming together as he studied my eyes. I nearly passed out as I was asking John to help me, somehow. Then everything went black as I actually did faint from the overload of pain.

It felt as if it had been only seconds when John began treating my wounds. I lost control when he applied bandages soaked in antiseptic to the gashes that were great bloody gashes across my otherwise pale chest; it felt as if he were applying strips of fire to my chest and I was tormented. I could do nothing to control the screams that were being wrenched out of me by my agony, John's hands moving furiously as he tried to apply the bandages quickly. I felt a flash of anger; why couldn't he just leave me be? Didn't he see he was torturing me? The thought was quickly gone however, washed away by a wave of fresh misery that surpassed the others. John moved closer to my face, and I allowed small whimpers to escape my iron control, and I knew he heard them by the way he stiffened his shoulders above me and a shadow crossed over his eyes. I promptly closed my own, unable to look at him anymore. We were in so much pain because of each other and that hurt worse than any physical wound.

His fingers brushed gently over my face, leaving a thick gel in their wake. This didn't hurt and it actually began to relax me just the smallest bit. I knew what was coming though. I braced myself mentally then told him to do what he to in order to heal me. I wanted him to finish so I could just sleep. He gave me a searching look before leaving my line of sight. His fingers were moving slowly and carefully on my chest and I felt a band begin to tighten around my ribs. His rough fingers were catching on my smooth skin as he wrapped the bandage. Normally I would've welcomed the sensation but today it hurt; same as everything else. I don't know why it was affecting me so badly, but this relatively small discomfort drove me to the edge of my endurance. As the linen tightened one last time, it pulled on the burned skin underneath it and the constant pressure added one more bit of misery on top of all the other pain.

"I have to… suture your gashes, Sherlock," John said, his gentle voice somehow catching my attention and holding it as nothing else could. "I don't know how long it will take…" His face almost broke my will - he looked so grim – but I know it had to be done. There were sounds of his preparation to my left and suddenly the needle was biting through my ravaged skin. I felt tears well up in my eyes and I shut them tightly to keep the tears from spilling over. The time when John was healing me, patching up my battered body, seemed interminable, stretching on forever with no beginning and no end.

I thought he had finished, but John apparently still needed to do one final thing; splint my leg. God I just wanted him to be done. Final spasms of pain wracked my body as I attempted not to writhe and kick my legs; I knew John would finish quicker if I stayed as still as possible.

Suddenly though, he _was _done, and he was walking away from me. I was honestly frightened for a moment; I didn't want him to leave me to face my pain alone. I suddenly felt like a child, and I was so afraid of being left alone by the only man I truly care about. He looked back at me as he opened the door and held up his index finger. I immediately relaxed into the uncomfortable cot I had been put on. John, my doctor now in the literal sense of the endearment, reentered the room shortly and went to the right side of my bed. He climbed in next to me, taking care not to jostle me overmuch. I was calm. The pain still raged through me, but John was here and he had done everything he could to heal me. I drifted into a merciful sleep next to the man I love and who loves me in return.


	7. Pain Can Be Pleasure

**A/N: Alright you guys, sorry this took so long to post but I've been having technical difficulties, writers block, and exhaustion all at the same time. So much fun. But it's posted now and that's what really matters :) I started the next chapter today and based on what kind of reviews I get on this chapter it may have more deliciousness of the sort in this chapter or I could take it in a different direction if I'm not good at writing this particular style. So, long story short, feedback on this particular chapter will be soooo appreciated (much more so than on any of the previous chapters) and I REALLY hope you like it! :)**

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><p>Sherlock, being Sherlock, could never lie in bed and allow himself to be taken care of. He was always making his visiting doctors angry and a nurse or two had left the room blushing, crying, or both. While doctors in the hospital would come in to check on my detective, he only let me change his bandages or treat him at all. This didn't sit well with the hospital staff, but one phone call from Mycroft stopped everyone's muttering.<p>

I was worried about Sherlock. He probably didn't notice anything different in himself, but I saw it perfectly. He was slipping into depression or something similar. He would lash out at doctors and nurses…and me. When I would just talk to him during the hours he had to spend in bed, he would grow agitated and restless, his fingers tapping erratically on either his bed or his chest once his burns were healed enough. He would yell at me and only much later would he ask me to kiss him until he was breathless or just lie in bed with him.

I was worried the most about him when he asked me to kiss him. Sherlock always sounded…lost. As if I was the only thing that was keeping him from falling away from the rest of the world. When I kissed him I almost always started to lose control of myself. Another cause for worry was that when I stopped before things could get too heated, he got so angry, not disappointed or mildly irritated like before.

He stayed at Saint Bart's for longer than his injuries should have warranted, but I didn't mind. I was worried about returning to the flat. I knew Sherlock wanted to have sex, and I did too, but I was nervous about doing something so incredibly intimate with him. Knowing him, he would probably start analyzing every little thing about me. Then again, that might be nice because he would be able to read my pleasure without me having to say anything. I wanted him so badly sometimes. I mean I always wanted him, but there were some moments when I suddenly felt like I needed him more than anything else. I think he picked up on this but he never said anything about it.

What he didn't know was that I knew how to at least start out being dominant when we eventually do have sex.

He would sleep a lot when he was first healing, and he often talked in his sleep; a side effect of the drugs he was on. Because of this, I discovered that I turn him on when I talk about my military service. I'd kind of been suspecting as much ever since I pulled rank in Baskerville, but I was never sure. He would moan my name in his sleep, and as one of his hands would twitch toward the bulge in his boxers, the other would move towards his face as if he were considering saluting. These dreams of his never failed to make me blush whenever I overheard them, but they also gave me leverage against him. Leverage I was planning to use to the fullest extent.

When Sherlock was finally able to return to the flat with minimal difficulties, he actually became surlier than he had been at St. Bart's if that were possible. He was constantly lashing out at me and Mrs. Hudson as we were the only distractions available. He grew progressively worse until he even stopped playing the violin. He would only sit in his chair and harass me and Mrs. Hudson. At night he would kiss me, but then he would curl up on his side of the bed, his back toward me, and stay that way until morning.

Tonight was even worse; he was sitting on the edge of our bed, his back and shoulders so tight I could see each of his muscles standing out starkly against the backdrop of his pale skin. I was determined to pull my lover out of whatever state he was in and I knew exactly how to do it.

I slid across our bed until I was kneeling behind him. My hands traced the shape of each of his muscles as I tempted to relax him just a bit. I was a little worried when he had absolutely no reaction to ministrations, but I continued anyways. I leaned forward and kissed his neck just under his ear. This elicited a minimal response; he sighed quietly, breathing out slowly through his nose. Though the reaction was small, it encouraged me to continue. I ran my hands over his smooth chest and across the flat expanse of his stomach to rest on his groin. I felt him get harder under my hands but I never would have noticed if not for the position of my hands. He gave me no other sign that he was getting excited, but I figured I could change that quickly. I made my hands into fists against his erection, attempting to seem angry. I moved my mouth to his ear. I growled, "Sherlock Holmes, you are going to lie down on this bed and let me do whatever I want to you. Is that understood?" I bit his earlobe gently, then with growing "anger" when he still didn't respond other than growing even harder under my hands. He shook his head once in a frenzied movement and I understood immediately what he was doing.

"That's an order, Sherlock," I growled as I pushed down on his erection, loving the small whine that broke through his control. I moved away from his back and he laid down slowly, still seemingly reluctant to listen to me. I opened the drawer of my bedside table and pulled out his pair of handcuffs, leaving the other items alone for now. I turned around to find Sherlock glaring at the ceiling, his hands balled up into fists at his sides. I slid back to him and leaned over to kiss his chest, tossing the handcuffs to the bed, forgetting them for the moment. One of Sherlock's hands caressed the back of my head as I covered his chest with gentle kisses, biting him lightly here and there, each little nip eliciting a quiet sigh from the man beneath me. His fingers wound into my hair as he held my face to his chest after I thought he would want me to stop. I was willing to do whatever he wanted, though…for now. I continued to kiss him, but I was also waiting for him to let his guard down enough for me to…restrain him. Finally, both of his hands were caressing me – my head, my back, anywhere he could reach – and I chose that moment to move forward with my original plan.

Sherlock's eyes grew wide when the handcuffs clamped around his wrist. I had closed one cuff around the bedpost and the other to him, effectively securing him to our bed. I wanted one of his hands free to continue touching me; he would be swiftly punished if he didn't.

"John. Leave me…ung!...alone!" His request wasn't exactly believable, but I decided to humor him anyways. I sat back and quit touching him completely except to trap his free hand under my knee to keep him from touching himself. I figured that Sherlock would win this little stand off if left to his own devices so I started talking to him. I talked about my military service, specifically about being a captain. At first it seemed to be having absolutely no effect on him, but then something changed and Sherlock suddenly blushed and started pulling on the handcuffs while his other hand was fisting under my knee as he tried to pull it free. I smirked and held my hand over his groin, so close to touching him that I could feel the heat coming off of him. Sherlock glared at me quickly before his eyes glazed over with lust when I started palming his erection.

"How about now, Sherlock? Do you still want me to leave you alone?" The only answer he gave me was a long, deep moan that drove me crazy with hunger for him, but I didn't let my lover know that particular detail; I was enjoying my dominance at the moment.

"Now, I'm going to tell you again, and this _will_ be the last time; you will let me do whatever I want…without complaining too much." Sherlock shook his head again, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. I pretended not to notice and instead growled threats in his ear. No response. "Hmm…We'll start with the riding crop, I think," I said, making my voice low and smooth. Again, his only reaction was to gasp quickly before he regained control. I was actually amazed that he had lasted this long. I knew how much I turned him on (for some reason) especially when I was militaristic or dominant, and yet he was resisting me so much that I had to resort to "punishment". This was all for his own good of course. I wanted to pull him out of his depression in a rather forceful way – but that didn't mean I couldn't have a little fun while I was at it.

I released his hand after I'd made sure he wasn't going to do anything I didn't want him to. I opened my drawer again and pulled out my next form of punishment from the myriad items; a leather riding crop. When I turned back to Sherlock, I saw his eyes flicker once to the whip before he looked back at the ceiling, biting his lip and shifting his hips at the same time. I ran my hand over his stomach, sliding my fingers roughly under the waist of his silk boxers. He bit his lip even harder but still managed not to make any noise, even when I pushed his boxers away from his rock hard cock. I laid down beside him on my right side and held the crop above Sherlock's erection with my left hand. I glanced at his face before looking back down to his member, feelings of triumph buzzing through me at the expression of ecstasy on his flushed face. I ghosted the tip of the crop down the entire length of his shaft, watching him grow even harder as he squirmed beneath me. I pressed harder on the riding crop as I brought it up his stomach, making small circles around his navel.

I stopped and Sherlock whimpered so quietly that I never would have heard it if I weren't pressed against him. I smirked quickly before bringing the whip down swiftly against his stomach. It was a bit of a gamble, getting violent with him, and I was worried for just a moment that he would go soft and tell me not to continue. The nervousness only for a second however as Sherlock let out a pleasured moan that sent chills up my spine. I kissed the red spot on his stomach, licking it gently just to tease him. It seemed to me that now that he had allowed himself one moan that he wasn't going to himself back any longer. Suddenly every touch, caress, and lash of the whip was causing Sherlock to groan and whimper, and the sounds were driving me wild. He began to moan my name between each slap of the riding crop, crying out loudly each time the leather hit his pale skin. I could see his hand slowly inching toward his massive erection that I'm sure was starting to hurt him.

I threw the riding crop to the bed behind me and grabbed Sherlock's wrist, effectively stopping his hand from moving any further toward his groin. He glared at me, his eyes flashing quickly with poorly concealed lust. I warned him that was not to move until I told him he could and he nodded after a moment of staring at my face. I let go of his hand and swiftly removed both of our boxers, leaving us stark naked.

I unlocked the handcuff from the bedpost and attached it to his free wrist instead, sitting him up in the process. I straddled his thighs, our unclothed erections moving against each other as I adjusted his arms around my neck, his fingers winding through my hair immediately. He pulled me to him and crushed my lips against his, eagerly slipping his tongue into my mouth where he fought for dominance. I overpowered him easily and bit his tongue; a slight reprimand for attempting to take control. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed myself fully to his chest, breaking away from his mouth to bite my way down his neck and across his shoulder, making him moan and buck his hips against mine. We both moaned loudly, reveling in the sensation coming from our cocks where the veins were bulging with the strength of our arousals. We were both completely coated in precum, and I figured it was enough lubrication to finally attempt penetration. I knew it would hurt him, but the pleasure would override it soon enough.

I pushed Sherlock back down to the bed and opened his legs with my own, moving my erection to his entrance. I kissed him fervently as I slid my slick cock into his opening, which hadn't been prepared at all for this particular intrusion. I felt him gasp and start panting from the pain, but I didn't stop until I was completely inside of him. God he was so tight and I almost came right then, but I managed to stop myself before I came. I stopped moving entirely, even keeping my lips still on his while he adjusted to having me inside him. His eyes were shut tightly in pain, but slowly his expression went from pained to pleasured and he shifted his hips around experimentally. I groaned loudly at the feeling of his passage around my cock and he bucked his hips once, smirking when it made me almost scream. He almost screamed, too, though and it didn't take me long to regain the upper hand. I started moving slowly in and out of his passage, enjoying the feeling of his fingers scrabbling against the back of my neck as he struggled to control himself. I groped for the riding crop with my right hand, grinning triumphantly against Sherlock's mouth when my hand closed over the handle.

I broke the kiss and pulled almost all the way out of Sherlock, lifting his hands from my neck before sitting up and looking down at my lover who was watching the riding crop quite closely. I brought the whip towards his neck, running the tip up and down the expanse of his jaw before slapping him somewhat gently on the cheek with it, leaving a small red welt which I promptly licked and bit. I continued doing this on his face, neck, and chest for as long as I could, but soon our cocks were so hard that I knew neither of us would last very much longer. I rammed myself back inside his entrance and we each cried out in ecstasy, though his scream was tinged with a hint of pain.

"John! Ooh John…hnng…please! Please just…Ahh!"

Sherlock began yelling incoherently, although I managed to catch my name mixed in with the pleasured moans and screams as I thrust in and out of his still-tight entrance. Suddenly Sherlock was bucking his hips furiously, his back arching off of the bed, and I was fairly sure I'd managed to find his prostate. Just to torment him, I stopped moving and he promptly glared at me, his eyes flashing quickly as his lips trembled, holding back a string of expletives I knew he was now saving up for later, after he'd had his pleasure. I began moving again after he had seemed to calm down just a bit, barely pushing against his prostate, giving him just enough pleasure to know what he could be feeling. I would have tortured him for much longer if I could have, but the tightening of his muscles around my erection made me see stars, so I began to thrust in and out erratically, not even paying attention to any sort of rhythm at all, just letting myself finally lose control as he did the same. Moans, pants, screams – all of them blended together to form something new and erotic beyond belief. Despite being at my limit, I was determined not to come before Sherlock, and I wasn't disappointed.

As my detective came, he let out a scream that ended in a moan that slowly turned to a whine. He draped his hands back around my neck, the metal cold against my feverish skin. He began kissing the underside of my jaw and I finally allowed myself to release, my cum shooting inside of him. I kept rocking my hips slowly, eking out as much pleasure as I possibly could. I finally pulled out of Sherlock and laid down beside him, undoing the handcuffs to allow his hands to roam my body, his long fingers gliding over my still somewhat muscular body.

"You should really listen to your superiors, Sherlock. The cleanup after the punishment can get rather difficult after a while," I murmured after we had been silent for a while. I heard nothing from the beautifully naked man beside me, and I wondered if he had fallen asleep. I glanced over to find him watching me with bright blue eyes that were bright with residual excitement and lust. I expected him to say something witty or have a comeback of any sort, but instead, the only response I received was,

"I'm not sure I'm quite ready to completely obey you yet. What else have you got in there, John?"


End file.
